Hidden Wounds
by LadyWallace
Summary: (Post 11x3) Even though the curse is gone, Castiel can't stop thinking about it and when everything else starts to crash down on him at the same time, he tries to cope in whatever way he can. Hurt!Cas Caring/worried Winchesters No slash


**And we're back to the angst... This is one I'd been working on for a while, the idea for it was actually one I'd planned to incorporate into my Katabasis Verse but with the direction that story took, this didn't really fit anymore (aka, I've tortured Cas mentally enough in that series) so I made it it's own one shot.**

 **WARNING: this story does deal with self harm even if it is an unconventional form of it, so I just wanted to warn of possible triggers ahead. There is a hopeful ending here of course.**

Hidden Wounds

A Supernatural Fanfic

Castiel stood in the war room, glancing at the stairs as a knot of anxiety formed in his chest. He automatically clutched his hands together, wringing them as he started to pace, trying to psych himself up to go to the stairs. The Winchesters were out on a hunt and even though they had encouraged him to rest up, he felt useless here. What had he been doing, after all, besides sitting in bed and watching pointless television shows? All while the Darkness was loose and probably plotting how she was going to destroy the world. Castiel was needed more than ever, and yet he couldn't force himself to leave the bunker, or to be of any help. He'd managed some research at least, but his whole being felt exhausted and his constant worry, the memories of what had happened, what he had done under Rowena's spell, how he had felt, didn't cease except when he was filling his mind with the nonsense on the television.

He felt nothing but guilt for how far he had fallen, disgusted with himself, but he couldn't do anything about it. Whenever he had tried, he simply became a shuddering mess, the horrors that had happened in the past few months flashing behind his eyes.

He didn't understand it. He had gone through horrible things before and they hadn't bothered him like this. No matter how much mental anguish he had been in, he had at least been able to function, to still do things. Why was this effecting him so much now when it wasn't even really the worst thing that had ever happened to him?

Thoroughly disgusted with his weakness, he steeled himself and strode purposefully toward the stairs to the bunker's entrance. Once there he grasped the rail with his shaking hand, and practically hauled himself onto the first step. He made it several more steps before his vision darkened and he felt dizzy. His breaths started to come in gasps, and he saw himself stabbing Crowley—killing those angels, chasing that woman through the warehouse…hurting Dean. The flashbacks morphed again, to Dean beating him, leaving him bloody on the floor of the library…

Castiel gasped and sank down to sit on the steps, trying to get ahold of his breaths and forcing the visions away. He huddled there, leaning against one of the railings. His incorporeal wings wrapped around him as he tried to comfort himself and he furiously dug his fingers into the sparse feathers, causing his wings to shimmer around him, half corporeal, half not. He grit his teeth as he thought of all his failings. He had caused all the angels to fall, had nearly lost Dean and Sam, and now he couldn't even help them in their fight. He was worthless.

In his desperate anger, he yanked hard on his fistful of feathers and sharp pain shot through him as several feathers came away in his hand. Castiel opened his eyes again and looked down at the ragged black feathers clutched in his fist and then realized that the torment had stopped for a moment, the pain seemed to have blocked it out for a while at least.

Castiel took a shuddering breath, and stood up, letting the feathers fall to the ground, feeling somewhat like a little pressure had been relieved from his body. He could breathe again at least.

He took several more deep breaths and then glanced up at the stairs again. But his stomach turned and he swiftly walked back to the dormitory wing. No. He would try again later. Right now, he would just wait to see if the Winchesters needed any research done. That he could do.

Until then…Castiel closed the door to his room and settled down on the bed, turning on the television again and let the fabricated universes and people wash over him in a calming wave.

* * *

 _It didn't get easier_ even after a few days. Castiel thought it might wear off, that maybe it was just a side-effect of the curse, and he would wake up one morning and feel better again. But that didn't happen. In fact, his condition only seemed to worsen.

Sam and Dean had stopped asking him to come on hunts after the first time where they had suggested it, and, panicked, he had said he needed more time to recuperate. Maybe they had given up on him too, like he had given up on himself.

Castiel watched them leave on another hunt, and felt alone as the bunker door closed with the familiar screech of unoiled hinges. He wanted to go with them, but the very thought of stepping outside made his breath short and the dizziness come over him again.

Subconsciously, he plucked his wings from the ethereal plane and wrapped his hand around one of his feathers, pulling it out. The sharp pain brought him back to reality and he spun away to the library to do some research for Sam and Dean. That, at least he could still manage.

It went on like that for the next few days. Whenever Castiel would feel anxiety creeping in, he would pull out a couple feathers. Deep down, he knew this wasn't a good thing to do, that it was harmful, and he felt strange about doing it, but at the same time, the clarity it offered him in those few moments were worth it.

Then one day, Dean picked up a couple feathers from under one of the tables in the library and frowned.

"Cas? You molting or something?"

Castiel froze, suddenly feeling terror that they would discover what he was doing, and not sure why. He had just been trying so hard to seem all right to them, that he couldn't stand it if they knew about this. He didn't want them to take this away from him, his only coping method. "I—um…" he stammered. "They must just be some old ones. You can keep them for spells if you want to."

Sam looked up from his book, his brow furrowed slightly, but Dean shrugged and thankfully seemed not to think much of it. Castiel felt relief wash over him.

After that he only did it in his room, tucking the feathers under his bed, where the Winchesters shouldn't see them.

As the days dragged on and became heavier for Castiel, the pile of feathers increased and his wings hurt constantly with a dull ache from all the plucking, but by now, he couldn't stop himself. In fact, he hardly noticed when he did it anymore, the action becoming a compulsion. Sometimes he would just find himself with a handful of feathers. But it didn't really matter anymore, nothing was going to make anything better. It was better this way; this way he could help himself, even if it didn't last; he didn't have to rely on the Winchesters when they didn't have time. And really, didn't he deserve to hurt for all the things he had done?

Castiel took a shuddering breath at that thought as he sat on his bed and plucked another feather, watching it drift down to join the others. Perhaps eventually, his worries would start going with them.

* * *

 _Sam muttered to himself_ as he searched around for one of the books he had been using for research the day before. He thought he had left it on the table in the library but it didn't seem to be there anymore.

"Hey, Dean?" He called into the kitchen where his brother was making a sandwich. "Have you seen that book on primordial myth I was reading yesterday?"

Dean snorted. "Um, no."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. Very helpful. He looked around again, and bit his lip. Maybe Cas had taken it to read. He had been trying to help Sam with some research on the Darkness so maybe he had taken the book to his room. He'd been spending a lot of time in there and Sam was honestly kind of worried about him. He knew the spell Rowena had put on him had taken a lot out of the angel, but he'd seemed sort of jumpy, and Sam didn't think he had been out of the bunker since it had happened.

He made his way to the dormitory wing and knocked on Cas' door, but it was already ajar.

"Cas?" he called.

No answer. He pushed the door open and saw that Cas wasn't in there. He stepped inside the sparse room and glanced around. Several books were on the nightstand and Sam picked them up, but none were what he was looking for. He frowned and bent to peek under the bed instead.

He almost balked as he saw a pile of black feathers under there. He reached in and took a handful of them out. Some were long, others small and downy but they looked just like the ones Cas gave them for spells so Sam knew they were the angel's. Why the hell had he lost so many?

Worried, but feeling like he had violated Cas' privacy, he carefully put the feathers back and straightened up. As he turned around, he spotted the book he was looking for on the desk and grabbed it almost as an afterthought as he left the room and went to the kitchen to find Dean.

"Hey, you find it?" Dean asked, taking a bite of sandwich.

"Yeah," Sam said distractedly. "Hey, has Cas seemed strange to you lately?"

"Cas is always strange, dude, he's a strange guy," Dean said and put his sandwich down. "But, yeah, kinda. I just figured it was the aftereffects of the spell."

"Yeah except it's been almost a month now," Sam said as he sat down across from Dean. "And he's losing feathers, like, a lot of feathers. I don't think he wants us to know, but they're all piled under his bed."

Dean frowned, a worried look creasing his brows. "You think that's a side effect of the spell too?"

Sam shook his head helplessly. "I don't know, I mean, we don't even know what it really did to him. We just know that if he hadn't been an angel, it would have burned him out long before it did."

"Cas did say that it had been eating into his grace," Dean said, a grim expression on his face. "I hope that doesn't mean it did any permanent damage."

Sam bit his lip, having had the same thought. "We may want to talk to him about it."

"He's not gonna say anything," Dean sighed. "He's just going to deny it."

"Dean, whatever this is, Cas is suffering. I know you can tell," Sam pleaded. "Come on, man. He's our friend, we owe him this. If he's hurting, we need to help him."

Dean swallowed a gulp of his drink hard, but nodded. "Yeah. You're right. We'll talk to him later, I just hope he accepts our help."

Sam pressed his lips together in a thin line, worry still gnawing at him. "Yeah, me too."

Later that day, Sam cornered Cas in the kitchen when the angel was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He didn't miss the fact that Cas started slightly when he realized Sam had entered the room, a bit of the hot beverage sloshing out of the cup and onto the counter. Sam smiled though and pretended not to notice how tense Cas was.

"Hey, Cas," he said. "What are you up to?"

Cas shifted, seeming to be slightly uncomfortable. "Oh, I was about to start working on doing some research."

"Oh, yeah, um, I grabbed that book you were reading from your room, I hope you don't mind." Sam noticed how Cas tensed when he mentioned his room, but he quickly schooled his expression.

"That—that's fine Sam. I have been looking at several different accounts."

"Yeah, me too," Sam said. "Actually, there's a couple things I wanted to talk to you about, do you want to research in the library together so we can share notes?"

Cas bit his lip but finally nodded. "Yes, that would probably be a good idea."

Well at least he wasn't totally against including himself with their activities. Sam gave him another small smile. "Great. I'm gonna just grab some coffee and I'll be right in."

Cas nodded again and started out the door before Sam bit his lip and called, "Hey, Cas."

The angel turned, looking somewhat skittish as if afraid Sam was going to broach a subject he wasn't comfortable with. Sam almost bit his tongue, but pushed on anyway now that he had started.

"Look, I just wanted to know if you're doing okay?" Sam asked softly. "I know that curse took a lot out of you, but you've been quiet lately and I just wanted to make sure you were good."

Cas suddenly began to fidget with his cup, nearly spilling the contents again, his hands clenching and unclenching around it as he shifted on his feet. "I—I'm fine. Just…trying to recuperate. My grace was very weak afterward."

Sam's brows pinched in concern at Cas even mentioning that. Usually, he wasn't at all forthcoming when it came to his wellbeing. "Yeah, that's why I wanted to check up on you."

"I'm fine, Sam," Cas said a little more convincingly this time, but still obviously lying through his teeth.

"Sure, good," Sam said instead and gave him a reassuring smile, clapping him on the shoulder. Cas flinched slightly, and Sam pulled away. "Just remember, you can talk to Dean and me if you ever need anything, okay?"

Cas nodded jerkily. "Yeah, I know. But I am okay, Sam." He turned and walked stiffly away and Sam's fabricated smile collapsed.

If there was one thing Sam knew for certain, it was that Cas was not okay.

* * *

 _The next day, Sam woke_ up to Dean complaining about the lack of food in the fridge and Sam sighed. They were getting low on coffee too, and it was time to make a supply run.

"I'll run into town," he said.

"Great, just don't forget meat," Dean told him, pouring a pitiful amount of corn flakes into his bowl with a sigh. "And take Cas with you, the guy needs to get some fresh air."

Sam shrugged, agreeing. Maybe it would be a good idea to get Cas out of the bunker. While he hadn't expressed interest in hunting since the curse—and Sam could understand that considering everything that had happened—he thought Cas was probably getting tired of being cooped up. A run to the grocery store was just the thing.

He walked to the dormitory wing and knocked on Cas' door.

"Hey, Cas," he called. "You awake?"

There was a shuffling sound and Cas came to the door, in just his shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled up and looking very underdressed and exhausted with dark circles under his eyes. Sam tried to keep the concern off his face.

"Yes," Cas said softly. "What do you need, Sam?"

Sam frowned slightly, but pressed on. "I'm running into town on a supply run, and I was wondering if you'd like to get out a little."

Cas' arms moved to hug himself, fingers digging into his sides as he seemed to shrink back. "No, I don't think I would," he said simply.

Sam frowned again. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. "Okay, well is there anything I can get you?"

Cas shook his head and was already gripping the door to close it. "No, thank you, Sam. I think I'm just going to rest some more." And then he closed the door nearly on Sam's face.

Okay, yeah, Cas was definitely not all right.

He went back to the kitchen to grab his coat and the keys from Dean and his brother looked up.

"What, Cas still sleeping?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, he flat out refused to go. Dean, I think he's actually scared to leave the bunker."

Dean snorted. "Scared? This is Cas we're talking about. Dude just recently broke free of those angels who were torturing him and ganked them for good measure. He's a badass warrior."

"Yeah, and look at what happened to him," Sam retorted, the worry gnawing in his stomach making his voice sharper than he had intended. "He got cursed, chased across the countryside by cops and civilians and when he called the angels for help they kidnapped and tortured him! Not to mention the fact that he's probably beating himself up about what he did to you." Sam sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Look, we both know what it's like to lose control like that, what that can do to you. It would only be expected that he has PTSD from it. And it's all my fault," he added dejectedly.

"Sammy don't pin this on yourself," Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I agree with you, Cas needs help, but you're not gonna do him any good if you sit around feeling guilty."

Sam huffed. "Yeah, yeah, you're right."

"I do think we need to talk to him though. We'll give him a little bit of time, you go grab the groceries and we'll talk to him together this afternoon. Sound good?"

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. Then left the bunker, really hoping that they would be able to bring their friend back from this.

* * *

 _Castiel shook uncontrollably_ as he walked back to his bed after shutting the door on Sam. He felt really bad for doing that, but he hadn't been able to face him another second. Just his suggestion of leaving the bunker had sent terror and flashbacks washing over him and he'd had to retreat before Sam had seen the truth. He knew the Winchesters were already worried about him and he was trying his best to pretend he was okay, but it was getting harder. And pretty soon they were going to insist he leave the bunker, or ask him why he didn't go anywhere anymore. And he didn't have an answer for that. He didn't even understand why he felt this way, except the fact that he was terrified of what could happen if he went out there. That he could lose control again. And either way, he was useless and the Winchesters would realize that soon enough.

Before he realized it, he had his hands in his wings again, ripping out several feathers and taking a shuddering breath as the pain dulled the rest of the sensations. He closed his eyes as he pulled several more, feeling his heartbeat and breathing ease as the memories were replaced simply by the real, vital pain. Then when he had a grip on himself again, he slid his wings back onto the ethereal plane and dropped the feathers under the bed with the others. There were a lot of them down there now, and he knew that was a problem, but he ignored that.

It was a coping method, like the television and both of them were the only things helping him stay halfway sane right now.

Like Dean always said when he drank excessively; whatever worked.

* * *

 _Dean sighed as he closed_ another book, wanting to slam his head against it. Who ever thought that saving the world would involve so much book learning?

He glanced at his phone. Sam wasn't back from the store yet, and it hadn't even been an hour. Dean was hungry, but there wasn't anything else to eat. He stood up and decided he was going to go grab some more coffee.

When he had gotten his cup refilled, he thought about Cas and what Sam said. If Cas really was scared to leave the bunker, they needed to pinpoint why and see if they could help him. Dean didn't know how to help someone with that problem, but either way, his friend was obviously hurting, and Dean wasn't okay with that.

He glanced toward the dormitory wing now, and decided to go see if Cas needed anything. When he got to the angel's room, he was about to knock on the door when he heard a sharp gasp from the other side, and frowned, his instincts overcoming him. He reached for the doorknob and simply opened the door without knocking, peeking inside.

He nearly spilled his coffee at the sight. Cas sat on the side of his bed, hunched over himself as if he were in pain, and at his back, there were two huge _wings!_ But upon further inspection, they looked awful. They were missing a bunch of feathers, and those that were there looked dull and ragged. Dean watched in horror as Cas reached up and grabbed one of the long flight feathers and simply ripped it out.

"What the hell?" he couldn't help but say.

That alerted Cas to his presence, and the angel started, whipping around to the door and jumping to his feet, his wings turning invisible again.

"Dean, what are you doing?" he asked, looking mortified, the feather still clutched in his hand.

"I just…what the hell, Cas?" Dean repeated, not even sure what he had just seen, except that Cas was obviously hurting himself. On purpose. And that wasn't okay.

Cas looked furious then. "Exactly. What the hell? Aren't you supposed to knock when a door is closed?"

Dean's mouth opened, but no words came out until he finally stuttered. "Cas, I just…"

"Please leave." Cas sounded tired, he couldn't even look at Dean, already slumping onto the bed.

It went against everything in Dean to leave his friend when he was obviously hurting, but he didn't even know what to do about this. Or what to say. If he tried, he would probably just make it worse. So against everything he was telling himself, he backed out of the room and closed the door, feeling terrible that he couldn't even figure out how to help his friend.

As he was walking back from the dormitory wing though, he heard the door open and when he headed to the kitchen, Sam was there unloading bags of groceries.

"Hey, got everything you wanted," Sam said with a smile, before he turned around and saw Dean's face, instantly realizing something was wrong. "What is it?"

Dean set his un-drunk cup of coffee on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, I know why Cas has been losing feathers," he said.

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's ripping them out himself," Dean said grimly.

Sam's eyes widened. "What? Why?"

"I don't know," Dean threw his hands up, feeling helpless. "I just walked in on him and he was ripping feathers out. He didn't want to talk."

"Dean we were supposed to talk to him together, not just barge in on him!" Sam said.

"I know, but I just…" Dean groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Dammit, Sam, I don't know what to do here. I mean he's obviously hurting himself on purpose, but I don't know why."

Sam's face was pensive as he continued putting the groceries away. "I might have a theory," he said before he closed the cupboard and turned back to Dean. "I remember reading once that sometimes when birds are anxious they will pull their own feathers out."

"Sam, Cas is an angel," Dean replied blandly. "I don't know if he would enjoy you comparing him to a bird."

"Okay, but, it could be a coping mechanism for him. Dean, he's obviously suffering from PTSD and anxiety and who knows what else. It's been a rough few years for us all, but Cas had really been put through the ringer and…well, frankly, we haven't really done that much to help him. Maybe it's all finally crashing down and he has no idea how to cope with it. I mean, I don't think they really allowed angels to show emotion in heaven. He probably doesn't even know what's going on with himself."

Dean felt guilt wash through him at Sam's words. It was true. Cas had become human only to have Dean kick him out on the streets, then he'd been dying from stolen grace and just when he got it back, he'd been whammied by a spell that had probably taken some of the precious little grace Cas had left. If anyone was allowed to have a breakdown it was Cas. Dean just hoped they weren't too late to help him.

"What do we do?" he asked helplessly.

Sam closed the fridge and crumpled the shopping bags into a ball. "We talk to him. Try to figure out what's going on and help him get through it."

"I don't know if he'll want to talk to us now," Dean said with a sigh.

Sam's face turned stoic. "He needs an intervention, Dean. Of course he's not going to want to talk, but we need to talk to him. Before he hurts himself worse."

Dean felt nausea rising in him at Sam's suggestion. He supposed there were worse things Cas could be doing than ripping his feathers out. "Alright, let's go then."

They went down the hallway to the dorm but Dean's stomach flipped at the sight of Cas' door left ajar several inches.

"Cas?" Sam called, stepping forward, and pushing the door open cautiously.

Dean glanced past his brother's shoulder but the room was empty. Just a couple feathers left on the rumbled covers of the bed.

"Where did he go, he was just in here?" Dean asked, looking around as if Cas would suddenly appear. "You don't think he left, do you?"

Sam frowned and shook his head. "He didn't want to leave at all earlier, I don't think he'll have left the bunker. He's probably just trying to avoid us after you burst in on him."

"Great," Dean groaned. "He could be anywhere in here."

They split up and began to systematically check all the rooms, but Cas didn't seem to be anywhere. Dean began to worry that Cas had left the bunker after all, but then he heard Sam calling him from the direction of the garage.

"Dean!"

He ran through the war room and hurried to the staircase that led to the garage. He burst through the door and saw Sam standing in the center of the large room, hands held out as if trying to calm a scared animal. A few feet away from him was Cas and huddled and shuddering against the side of one of the cars.

"Cas?" Dean called, stepping forward past Sam and crouching beside the angel, fear knotting inside of him. "You okay, man?"

He reached out to grip Cas' shoulder, but the angel flinched away from him with a strangled cry.

"No, don't!" he cried. "I…I…don't want to hurt you!"

Dean glanced up at Sam and his younger brother shared a pained look. Dean turned back to Cas and saw his eyes were wide and unseeing as his breaths came in short pants. He was obviously hallucinating and Dean reached out to grip his shoulder tightly to ground him. Cas flinched.

"Cas, hey, you're here with us, you're not under the spell anymore."

Cas shuddered a little longer and then raised his head to look between Dean and Sam, taking several deep breaths. His hands fumbled up, reaching over his shoulder, but then he forced them back down and let out something akin to a sob.

Sam was crouching beside them now and reached out to grip Cas' other shoulder. The angel looked small in just his rumpled shirt and trousers. The trench coat was lying in a pile beside Cas, but he obviously hadn't bothered to put it on before he tried to make a run for it or whatever he had planned.

"Hey, it's okay, Cas. Just talk to us," Sam said softly. "Why were you out here?"

Cas took several more shuddering breaths before he spoke, seeming to deflate in defeat. "I—I can't even leave." He said bitterly. "Every time I try I just…I remember. Everything." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as if trying to dislodge more memories. "I just want to forget it all, but I can't. I can't!" He folded over himself and dug his fingers into his arms until his knuckles whitened.

"Why were you trying to leave?" Dean asked.

Cas looked up at him, but couldn't meet his eyes, seeming mortified. "Because you…why would you want a broken angel? I can't even…I can't even help you fight. I can't even set foot outside without panicking. I'm worthless." The last words were spoken in a whisper as Cas shrunk away from them and curled into himself.

Sam's jaw tightened and a deep emotion flashed through his eyes. "No, you're not worthless," he said firmly. "Not to us." Then he reached out and pulled Cas into his arms. Dean watched Cas stiffen in Sam's embrace, but his brother simply held on until Cas relaxed against him and took a shuddering breath. Sam met Dean's eyes over Cas' shoulder and Dean nodded gratefully.

"Cas, we've all had moments where it feels like even getting out of bed in the morning is too much effort. Trust me, I know," Sam said, still not releasing Cas from his arms. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that's happened. It was my fault that you got cursed, I never should have got you involved in that."

Cas pushed away, and looked up at Sam finally, his voice rough. "Sam, you never had to ask. What we did was for Dean; we all knew there would be risks, consequences. I don't blame you for that."

Sam's face crumpled slightly and Dean took over, reaching out to squeeze Cas' shoulder again. "Well, maybe you should blame me," Dean started roughly. "Because I was the one who forced you to have to take that stolen grace that almost killed you when I kicked you out of the bunker. I was the one who took on the Mark and forced you and Sam to make stupid decisions to save me." He swallowed hard. "I can't help but think that if we had been a better friend to you—if I had been a better friend to you—then you would be okay now."

"Dean…" Cas tried but Dean held up his hand.

"Stop. You know that's the truth," Dean said and Cas sagged again, seeming completely exhausted.

"I'm…I'm trying to get past this," Cas said.

"Cas, you're hurting yourself," Dean said firmly. "That's not how you fix things."

He watched the shame wash over Cas' face and Sam laid a hand gently on his arm. "Cas, why are you pulling your feathers out?" he asked softly.

Cas looked away from them, his fingers digging into his arms again. "Because it…for a moment it makes me forget about everything else." He took a shuddering breath. "Every time I close my eyes I see what happened when I was under the spell. Stabbing Crowley in the back, killing those angels, chasing that poor woman…" He glanced up at Dean. "Beating you with my bare hands. I'm afraid…I'm afraid that if I leave the bunker again, I will lose control of myself. I know it was the spell that made me do those things, but in my mind…it's not making sense right now, and I don't know how to help myself! What it felt like to lose control like that? I just want to forget all of it! I'll do anything that can help." He buried his face in his hands.

Sam and Dean shared a look and Dean saw the pain that radiated from his brother's eyes. Sam's hand ran up and down Cas' arm comfortingly while Dean reached out to squeeze his knee.

"Cas…" Dean tried then stopped, running a hand over his face. "Look. I get it. I mean, I'm probably the king of unhealthy coping mechanisms, but you realize that hurting yourself is only going to make you feel worse in the longrun. And trust me, man, I know what losing control feels like. I know." He nearly felt like he would vomit at the thought of everything he did when he was under the influence of the Mark. Like smashing Cas into the floor of the library before leaving him there, broken and bleeding, without a single ounce of remorse.

"We all know, Cas," Sam told him softly. "We've all been there."

"Then why is it easier for you to get over it?" Cas asked.

Dean actually snorted a laugh. "Truthfully? It's not. Why do you think I drink so much, man? Not that I'm endorsing that, but that's the only way I sleep some nights, thinking of everything that I did when I was in Hell or had the Mark. The only reason I get up in the morning is because I know I would feel even worse if something happened to my family because I wasn't there. If it wasn't for that, I would have quit a long time ago."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Cas, things affect different people in different ways. It doesn't make you any weaker than Dean and me. It just means that what happened affected you differently. And don't forget that that curse really did take a lot out of you, and those angels messed with your head too. That could all be heightening your anxiety and paranoia due to your vulnerable state."

Cas seemed to bristle a little at the word 'vulnerable' but Dean took that as a good sign.

"But you've got to stop hurting yourself, Cas," Dean said again, making sure he got through.

Cas looked away. "Then how do I make this feeling go away?"

"With patience and knowing you don't have to go through this alone," Sam said sincerely. "Cas you should have told us how much you were hurting. You know we would have listened. I know you think we would think of you as weak for it, but that's not true. You're family. You're our brother."

"Exactly," Dean added and got his feet under him. "And we don't leave family hanging." He reached down and Cas eventually took his hand, allowing Dean to haul him to his feet. He pulled the angel the rest of the way into his arms, trying to convey everything he couldn't say with that embrace. Cas was stiff against him, but he didn't pull away either so Dean took that as a little bit of progress. Sam picked up Cas' coat, bundling it almost carefully in the crook of his arm as Dean pulled away.

"Now, can Sam and I take a look at those wings?" he asked the angel.

Cas' face paled and he shifted uncomfortably, not looking at either of them, but he nodded eventually.

"Okay," Dean said and gently settled a hand on Cas' shoulder before leading him back to his room.

They urged Cas to sit and then waited for him to reveal his wings. Shame washed over Cas' face and he wouldn't look at them as he made his wings visible, his head ducked low.

Sam's breath caught in his throat and Dean felt awe wash over him too. Even in this horrible state, Cas' wings were impressive. They were very bare of feathers though, and the skin around the ones that remained looked red and irritated, some places even had clots of dried blood where the feathers had been forcefully ripped out.

"Let us clean your wings up a bit, Cas," Sam said as he left the room to get some first aid supplies.

Cas hunched on the bed but started slightly when Dean nudged him. "Hey, don't look like that."

"They look awful and I did it," Cas said blandly. "I feel…ashamed."

"Well, for the record, they're still pretty badass," Dean told him. "And the feathers will start to grow back once you feel better, right?"

Cas' shoulders stiffened and he ducked his head again. Dean frowned. "They will grow back, won't they?"

Cas gave a shuddering sigh. "I—I don't know. With my grace the way it is…" He trailed off, but Dean heard the hopelessness in his voice. He felt a pang in his chest and sat down beside the angel.

"Either way, Cas, it doesn't make you less of an angel, okay? And I bet that if you take care of them and let them heal, then your feathers will grow back. Just give it time."

Cas didn't look convinced, but Dean wasn't really expecting him to right now. He was still in a bad place and Dean knew that. But he and Sam were going to help Cas out of that.

Sam came back in with a bowl of hot water that had some kind of herbs in it, and a couple cloths.

He and Dean set to work, bathing Cas' wings and cleaning all the clotted blood off. The herbs Sam had put into the mixture seemed to relax Cas a little bit, and as his wings were drying, Sam and Dean attempted to put some of Cas' feathers back into more semblance, smoothing out ruffled barbs, and that seemed to relax him further until he looked like he might fall asleep.

"Okay, I think we're done. Does that feel better?" Sam asked.

Cas nodded. "Yes."

Dean watched him make his wings invisible again and slump wearily onto the side of the bed, his hands clutched in his lap tightly.

"Cas, you look exhausted," he said. "Why don't you try to sleep?"

Cas frowned slightly. "Angels don't really sleep."

"But you do when you're wounded," Dean insisted. "Look, just for a couple hours. It might make you feel better."

Cas let out a long weary sigh, but leaned sideways and pulled his legs up into the bed, curling up on his side. Dean grabbed his trench coat, which had been sitting on the end of the bed and he unfolded it, spreading it over the angel. He and Sam shared a tentatively relieved look, and Sam picked up the first aid supplies and went to empty the bowl.

Dean was about to leave as well, reaching over to flip the lamp off, when Cas spoke up.

"Dean…"

Dean turned and saw Cas looking at him, mouth open as if not sure what to say, but there was panic in his eyes and Dean didn't need him to say anything. He left the lamp alone and pulled the chair away from Cas' desk, pulling it over to the side of the bed.

"Don't worry, man, one of us will be here when you wake up, I promise," he said, not mentioning the possibility of nightmares before that. "And we're always here, you know, if you want to talk."

Cas took a deep breath and seemed to sink further into the bed. He clutched the trench coat around his shoulders.

"Thank you, Dean," he said softly.

Dean smiled as he leaned back in the chair. "Anytime, brother."

Cas' eyes slid shut and he dozed off into what seemed to be a deep sleep. Dean simply sat there and watched him. He knew there was a long road ahead of them with Cas' recovery, but, Darkness or not, he knew that their first priority was getting their angel back on his feet.

Because after all, what did they have if they didn't have family?


End file.
